


Home Therapy

by coyotes



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Brain Surgery, M/M, Painkillers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3691224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotes/pseuds/coyotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys gets his implants. Vaughn takes care of him. It's a pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Therapy

**Author's Note:**

> pre-established rhys/vaughn, also some rhys/vaughn/yvette if you squint. rhys is very attached to his besties.

Rhys wakes up to a hand pressed flat to his forehead and an arm by his face, everything fuzzy and obnoxiously bright, medical tools glittering uncomfortably in the corner of his vision. He wants to squint but he can’t, it’s too much work and he can’t focus on anything long enough to move any of the muscles _anywhere_ on his body. 

He hears a dull noise to his left and tries moving his head – which is met with the most determined resistance he’s ever felt in his life from the hand on his forehead; it won’t budge.

“What’re you doing?” He says, but it sounds more like ‘wh’y’doin’’ and when he gets enough strength to move his eyes he can see the restraints over his torso and his left arm. He can’t turn his head enough to see what’s going on with the right one, though.

“How are you feeling, Rhys?” A disembodied voice says, somewhere above him, and Rhys decides it’s too much effort to keep his eyes open. He lets them flutter closed and doesn’t fight against the motion when the hand on his head tilts him a little. 

“Not feeling,” he mutters, his tongue way too heavy in his mouth.

“That’s good. Wouldn’t want you to feel this, would we now?”

“What’re you doing?” He repeats, except it sounds even _less_ clear.

“A few hours ago we opened up your head so we could get the implants connected directly to your brain,” the God-voice explains, “right now one of the doctors is installing something that will let you transfer data to the rest of your cybernetics, but we can talk about that later.”  
“Why’m I awake?”

“The procedure requires you to be conscious during this portion of it. Have to make sure everything up here’s still working.” 

“There’s a throbbing in his skull to his left and Rhys thinks about it for a second, wondering why he can’t hear anything on that side. “Is there a plug in my ear?”

“Do you want to hear someone drilling into your head?”

“No,” Rhys says groggily, and that’s the end of that. There’s silence for a good lifetime, then, or at least… it feels like a lifetime.

“I’m going to ask you some questions, Rhys. Do you think you can answer them?”

Rhys hums quietly.

“Can you feel anything?” 

“You already asked me that; didn’t you?”

“No, I asked how you _were_ feeling. This is important, Rhys. Focus.”

“What was the question?”

“Can you feel anything.”

“I can feel my fingers a little.”

“On which hand?”

Rhys pauses for a moment.

“I only have one hand,” he finally says in exasperation, because that was true. He’d had only one arm for a long time, since he was a kid. He’d managed to live without it – it wasn’t a huge deal, he was left-handed anyway, but the amount of extra work he had to do to climb up the brutal Hyperion ladder was something he wasn’t fond of recalling.

“You have two now, Rhys.” 

“Wh… what?” 

“When the rest of your cybernetics are finished, you’ll be able to move it more. Ideally, you’ll be able to pull up an entire desktop of information in the palm of your hand. It’s connected to your nerves, so the base can’t be removed, but it’s also wired up to connect via signal to the implants in your head; it’s your arm now. We – Rhys?”

He’s tearing up – he can’t look down at his arm because it’s too far out of his vision and his eyes won’t turn downwards enough for him to get more than a streak of yellow. The tears turn into quiet sobs and the hand at his forehead holds him tighter; the dull thrum in his skull stops. 

“What’s wrong? Do you need more anesthetic?” 

“I have two arms now,” Rhys says soberly, and then laughs. “That’s – that’s like, that’s one more than I’m used to. Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, Rhys. We’re not through the whole procedure.” The hand on his forehead relaxes again, scare over. Rhys tried to be excited, he wants so badly to be excited, but he’s too tired. So he settles for lazily grinning to himself, those words flying right over his head.  
“Next question,” the voice continues.  
\--  
He wakes up with visibility only in his right eye; the other side sees only darkness. Which isn’t much to look at. 

“What happened?”

“You were out for a while. We’re installing your new eye now; you shouldn’t be able to feel a thing. Can you?”  
“You keep asking me that, it’s annoying. Can I go back to sleep?”   
“In a minute, Rhys. You have to answer first.”  
“I feel _everything_. ‘S why ’m in s’ much pain. ‘Aahhh’.” Rhys slurs out, deadpanning, but the doctor doesn’t find it funny. He responds with a tense silence, like he’s been dealing with this behavior for hours.

Maybe he has, and Rhys just doesn’t remember doing it. 

“I don’t feel anything,” he hastily answers instead, because it feels like he should do that… and they’ve got their tools up in his eye socket so it’s not his best plan, ticking them off. “I’m sorry.”  
“It’s okay, Rhys. Just focus on answering when I ask you things, that’s all I need. It’s important.” 

“Yes, sir – hey, what color is it gonna be?” 

“Your eye? Blue.”  
Rhys makes a noise of disbelief. “I’ll have two different colored eyes,” he says absent-mindedly, “I’ll be just like Handsome _Jack_. Awesome.” 

There’s silence again. Someone far off snorts, but Rhys misses the joke. 

Suddenly, he’s tired again. He falls back into unconsciousness, and he doesn’t wake up until everything is over.   
\--  
“Now, Rhys, we’re taking you off the anesthetic just long enough to make sure you still have feeling where you need it.”

“Okay,” Rhys says, nervous, his wrist still locked down in restraints, the other arm he couldn’t control just yet hanging limply at his side. 

\--

It takes a while to kick in, but when it kicks in, it _kicks him_. Like someone ripped out a portion of his skull without thinking twice about it, and then took a drill to his head and jammed it in there as far as it could go. That alone he could have dealt with but the area around his eye burns and he tries to bring his hand up to cover it but all he’s doing is getting the least satisfying clinking of restraints against the chair he’s sitting in.

His breaths heave in and out because he’s panicking, everything hurts, and he finds himself muttering things under his breath, ‘please’es and ‘stop’s coming up the most. 

“I’m sorry,” he gets out between sobs, “whatever I did I’m _sorry_ , make it stop, _please_.” 

But they don’t make it stop, not until he’s hunched over and there’s saliva dribbling down his chin and his eyes both hurt – one from crying, the other from surgery and he can’t even see from it yet, everything’s turned off – and the pain in his head is so sharp he wishes he was dead. But he’s worn himself out from screaming, his throat’s just as raw as every other part of him so all he can do is sit there and wait for them to decide he’s had enough.

He’s never been further from wanting to thank someone for this in his life.   
\--  
“You’re an asset, Rhys. A valuable asset to Hyperion. You should be proud.”

Rhys sits up in the hospital bed. Everything smells like medical supplies and clinical things, and it’s setting him on edge. He’s not in pain anymore; he hasn’t been for a few days. Mostly because they’ve been pumping him full of anesthetic and he doesn’t remember half of it. All he knows is that not only would he be walking around with a new arm, a new eye, and a hole in his head, he also had a tattoo on his neck. A big black circle, with some other stuff. He couldn’t remember. “Did you tattoo me?”

“Yes. It separates you from your colleagues, you’re much more important now.”

“Won’t the eye give away that I’m special?” Not that it matters now, considering there’s a bandage going around his forehead covering both the eye and the port, but it’ll matter eventually. 

“Not many people have implants as complex as this. In fact, you’re the only one. “

“Oh. Wow.”

The man doesn’t give him time to process that. 

“Are you ready to go home, Rhys?”

Rhys nods. He hasn’t seen Vaughn or Yvette since this started, and he’s pretty sure it’s been a long time. Over a week, not over a month. They don’t care much for visitors in Hyperion medical facilities, he guesses. But he kind of gets it. He’s important, or something. 

“Show me what you can do with your arm.” 

Rhys lifts the robotic appendage from his lap, twisting the wrist of it and moving his fingers. He can’t do it too fast, but he can lift it, he can rotate it, and once they turn everything on and it’s all healed, he can use it for all sorts of things. But for now, he’s fine with settling for a few hand motions. 

“You’ll have to come back for regular appointments, but I think you can go back to your apartment for today. Do you have anyone who would – “

“Vaughn.”   
\--  
They discharge him with so much medication he doesn’t know what to do with it, and he can’t read the labels because none of it makes any sense to him. He already feels woozy enough, because they also let him go under the condition that he take something for the pain _before_ he meets up with Vaughn. 

He’s too out of it to change back into the clothes he came in and so he leaves with a loose hoodie on, the sleeve of one side completely cutoff from the shoulder. It took him way too long to get that on, so he’s pretty damn grateful they wouldn’t even let him try and get his other clothes back on. He manages his pants just fine, though. Hooray for small miracles. 

When he sees Vaughn he almost doesn’t recognize him – it’s like seeing your friend at the grocery store and double-taking twice before realizing it’s them. Vaughn’s signing a bunch of papers for him because he’s in no shape to be doing any of it, especially if he can’t even read labels on bottles. 

“Heeey,” he drawls as he steps beside him, looking over the paperwork Vaughn’s hastily filling out and realizing that, yep, he’s not able to read any of it. 

“Hey Rhys,” Vaughn says gently, turning and smiling up at him. Until he notices the arm and the bandage and… everything else, really, and his face scrunches up a little. “Jeez… wow. They – you have an _arm_ now! Holy crap, Rhys.” 

“I missed you,” Rhys says, more soft-spoken than he’s probably ever been.

“Oh-kay. Let’s get you home, big guy. Then you can tell me all about how much you missed me.” 

Rhys followed Vaughn the whole way back but Vaughn kept turning around to make sure he was following behind anyway, grinning dumbly each time he turned. Rhys grinned dumbly back and ignored all the weird looks he got from other employees as they passed, unspoken questions he wasn’t in any place to answer.

“Hey, where’s Yvette?”

“We couldn’t both take off work for you. It’s still up in the air over who’s the lucky one.”

They made it to Rhys’ apartment with little disturbance, amazingly, except for Rhys stumbling around a little while following after Vaughn like a duck. The second they make it through the door Rhys bends over and hugs Vaughn, the first hug he’d ever give him with two arms.

“I guess I am,” Vaughn says as Rhys squeezes him and Vaughn can feel his breath by his ear, can hear how he’s close to either crying or laughing, and Vaughn squeezes him back. 

It’s both. Rhys’s breath lurches but he’s giggling, too, his eye is wet with tears and he’s hugging Vaughn impossibly tight like he’s been waiting his whole life just to hug him like that. 

And then suddenly Rhys pulls back. “I’m hungry.” 

“What? Okay, you remember where the fridge is?” 

“Yeah,” he says with complete assurance, and then goes off towards the bathroom. 

“Rhys?” 

“Yeah?”

“Other way, buddy.” 

Rhys goes the right way then, and then disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes. Vaughn’s organizing all of his medication and looking each bottle over carefully. He heads into the kitchen to check on him and finds Rhys with his face pressed against the edge of the fridge door, standing there with the door ajar. 

“Do you need some help?”

“No,” Rhys groans like the very idea is ridiculous but he stays standing there anyway, swaying a little on his feet.

Vaughn eases him away from the fridge and Rhys goes without a fuss, using the counter to prop himself up instead. “You still hungry?”

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“I – okay, what about some water?”

“Sure. Thanks, Vaughn.”

Vaughn gets one of the glasses out of the cabinet and fills it up, handing it directly to Rhys so he won’t forget about it. 

Rhys downs the whole thing in a few swallows and then puts it down on the edge of the counter while Vaughn goes back to organizing everything they gave him. 

Rhys stares at the cup for a long while, completely honed in on it like it’s the most interesting thing in the world, and then gently pushes it over the counter. It clatters to the ground in a million pieces, and Rhys stares at it in absent-minded confusion. 

“Rhys, what the hell?!”

Whatever they’d given him, Vaughn isn’t prepared for it. 

“I didn’t do that.” 

“What do you _mean_ you didn’t do that? I saw you do that!” 

“No – Vaughn, listen, it wasn’t me.” 

“Rhys – “

“I swear it wasn’t.” 

“Who else could it have been, then?”

Rhys shrugs. 

That’s when Vaughn decides it’s pointless to argue with him and grabs a towel to start cleaning up the glass. Except that’s when Rhys decides to go wandering around the apartment, touching everything. But he can’t leave the glass there and so he gathers it up as fast as he can and shoves it into the trash, going after Rhys. 

He finds him in the bathroom again, looking at himself in the glass. His expression, for once, is completely unreadable, but Vaughn guesses that’s because he might not even be able to feel his face. Before he says anything, though, Rhys breaks the silence himself.

“I look like shit.” 

“Just a little. C’mon, you wanna sit down?” 

“No, I have to brush my teeth. They wouldn’t let me in there.” 

“Alright, alright, here.” Vaughn reaches around him and uncaps the toothpaste, giving Rhys full reign to do whatever else.

It goes pretty well, all things considered. He gets some of the toothpaste on his upper lip and Vaughn has to brush it away with his thumb when he’s done, but at least he didn’t choke on the toothbrush or anything. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Vaughn says, way too gentle, touching Rhys’ human arm to make sure he has his attention. 

“You have _no_ idea how much I’ve been waiting for someone other than that crackpot doctor to ask me that. I feel great, thank you for asking, Vaughn. Did you know… did’ja know I was _awake_ in there?”

“Whoa, really? That’s pretty screwed up.”

“Yeah.” Rhys leans on him a little, but not for support – at least, not physically. “It messed me up, I think.” 

“I’m sorry. Hey – “ and then suddenly Rhys _is_ using him for physical support, “Rhys, Rhys! C’mon.” He holds him up a little, trying to nudge him towards the couch in the center of the main room. “Let’s go over here, huh? Sit down, that’s it.” 

Rhys sits back on the couch like he’s made to be there, the elbow of his human arm propping him up on the armrest. When Vaughn moves to sit next to him Rhys turns so he can put his head in his lap, and Vaughn lets him, watching him cautiously. Good old Vaughn. 

“I’m like Handsome Jack,” Rhys says out of the blue. 

“Oh boy,” Vaughn says with a roll of his eyes, and Rhys notices. 

“I mean – You know how _he_ had mismatched eyes? Now I do, but you can’t see it yet. It probably looks gross under there. And then… I’m special, nobody else has these … “Rhys makes a vague motion over his whole face. “Like Handsome Jack. Except I don’t have a mask, I’ve got a hole drilled into my head. It kinda hurts.” 

“Might as well call you Handsome Rhys,” Vaughn jokes, but Rhys takes it seriously. 

“That’s, wow, that’s a good one, I think. Maybe you should start calling me that instead,” he says, hopeful, face flushed.

“Not in a million years.” Vaughn runs his fingers through Rhys’ hair and Rhys tilts his head back into it, sighing.

“I _really_ missed you.”

“Are you just saying that because I have my hand in your hair?”

“Yeah.”

“You should keep it down like this more; it looks ridiculous when you pull it all back. I kinda like it all over the place.” He rubs his thumb just above the bandage, and Rhys inhales. 

“Ow.” 

“Oh, crap, did I hurt you? I-I’m sorry, hold on – “ 

“No no no, it’s okay, Vaughn, it’s fine.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, just sore. Anyway, what… what were we talking about? Handsome Jack?”

“You’re unbelievable.” 

“Believe it,” Rhys whispers. 

“Do you ever run out of weird things to say? When you’re out of this you’re _so_ paying me back. I don’t know how, but you’re doing it.”

“Hey, Vaughn, can you call Yvette? I wanna talk to Yvette.” 

“Are you sure? I’m not going to be held responsible for whatever you say to her.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I wanna say hi, that’s all I wanna do. Please?”

Vaughn’s already lifting himself off the couch the inch or so it takes to grab his phone out of his pocket, holding it over Rhys’ face so he can preemptively warn her of the state Rhys is in. When he does finally dial Rhys is grabbing for the phone and carefully placing it by his ear.

“Rhys?” Vaughn hears on the line, and Rhys immediately perks up.

“Hey! Yvette, hey, I miss you,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t want Vaughn to listen in even though Vaughn’s about two feet above him. Vaughn doesn’t point that out though, playing with Rhys’ hair a little while he talks to Yvette.

“I miss you too, Rhys. How’s the hospital been?” 

“Awful. Hey, Yvette, Vaughn says he loves you, and I love you more, okay, just want you to keep that in mind. It’s not even really a competition, I love you.” 

“Rhys,” Vaughn says, and Yvette’s laughing on the other line. 

“I love you too, Rhys. Is Vaughn treating you well, or do I have to come down there?” She says with no intention of coming down, just humoring him anyway. 

“Yeah, you should. He tossed a glass off the counter in a fit of _rage_.”

“Oh, did he?”

“ _Yeah_. “

“Well, I’ll see what I can do. It might take me a while to get down there though, is that okay?”

“Sure. I have to go, bye Yvette.”

Rhys hangs up on her before she can respond and Vaughn looks down in bewilderment as Rhys hands back his phone. “I’m tired,” he says simply, and Vaughn takes that as actually needing to go to bed. 

It’s a struggle to get him standing again but Vaughn does it, pushing and pulling Rhys towards the counter again to give him what he’s supposed to take. That part is less of a struggle; Rhys is fine as long as Vaughn holds the cup of water for him so he can swallow. He barely makes it to the bedroom before he’s dragging Vaughn along with him. They almost miss the bed, too. 

Rhys is careful not to press the portion of his head covered in bandages against anything, whether that be Vaughn or the bed, and _somehow_ Rhys ends up on top of him and hovering, unsure of which direction to go. 

“Vaughn,” he mutters, eye wide.

“What’s wrong?”

“I have two hands now. Have I hugged you yet?”

“Yep, you hugged me.” 

“Can I do that again?”  
“Of course you can, Rhys. I’m not going to stop you from hugging me.” 

Rhys leans to one side – the side with his robotic arm – and puts his arms under Vaughn’s and presses the right side of his face against Vaughn’s chest. Vaughn’s trapped there, but at least he’s not completely on top of him. Rhys’ bottom half isn’t except for the way his legs are tangled with Vaughn’s, but that doesn’t count.

“Never been able to hug you before,” Rhys says, holding him tighter, “it’s nice.”

Since Vaughn’s terrified of touching anywhere near his head again he settles for a hand on Rhys’ back, and he can feel how tense he is from trying to hug him as hard as he can without hurting him. “I know, man. You should go to sleep, huh? I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

“I missed you, I missed this,” Rhys says as he nuzzles him, and Vaughn doesn’t think that Rhys has ever been so unapologetically affectionate like this, and he likes it, too. He can tell Rhys is out when his shoulder blades relax and so does the rest of him, breathing in and out with his nose.

And drooling on him.

At least that hadn’t changed.

He doesn’t tell Rhys that he has a picture of him smiling like Vaughn’s the entire world to him against his chest on his phone, at least not until weeks later, and he definitely doesn’t tell him when Rhys tries deleting it that Yvette already has it on hers, too. Rhys can live without the knowledge.  
\--

Rhys takes his hand away from his face and looks straight at Vaughn, showing him the eye he’d gotten what feels like ages ago. 

“Can I scan you?”

“Sure.”

The eye lights up, beautiful and bright while Rhys sits there, slack-jawed, as information flows into his head.

And then he grins. 

“You’re thinking about how nice I look.” 

“You got me,” Vaughn says, bringing Rhys closer to him with both hands on either side of his face. He kisses Rhys’ forehead and Rhys hums, still looking at him with both eyes, concentrated on everything else showing up on that eye of his.

He’s still grinning when he says “I love you too, bro.”


End file.
